


Prank War 3

by sjofn



Series: The Prank War [3]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-04
Updated: 2011-03-04
Packaged: 2017-10-25 00:55:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sjofn/pseuds/sjofn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Practical jokes often go horribly wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prank War 3

**Author's Note:**

> Beta’d by the fantastic [](http://onychophoran.livejournal.com/profile)[ **onychophoran**](http://onychophoran.livejournal.com/) (Thanks Bunny!) 

_  
**Prank War 3**   
_

**Title:** Prank War 3  
 **Author(s):** sjofn0nott  
 **Pairing(s)/Character(s):** Nathan/Charles  
 **Summary:** Practical jokes often go horrible wrong.  
 **Rating:** G  
 **Warning(s):** A sticky situation. I’m terrible.  
 **Word Count:** 600ish  
 **Disclaimer:** I own NOTHING! I will NEVER make any money from this!  
Auth **or’s Note:** Beta’d by the fantastic [](http://onychophoran.livejournal.com/profile)[ **onychophoran**](http://onychophoran.livejournal.com/)  (Thanks Bunny!) 

Charles entered the small boardroom a few minutes before the meeting Nathan had asked him to call was due to start.

The singer was standing at the head of the table shuffling some papers and mumbling to himself. The bruising around his eye had colored to mottled shades of black, blue, and purple.

He surreptitiously looked over the ceiling of the room, easily spotting the apparatus that would drop whatever horrible concoction Nathan had come up with on to the rhythm guitarist. It was mounted over the spot where the singer was currently standing. He hadn’t been let in on the plan, but the singer’s purchase of a fifty gallon drum of heavy corn syrup and ten gallons of fish oil, made it pretty obvious what he had in mind.

The rest of the band was already seated around the table, and Nathan began speaking as soon as Charles had taken a seat.

"Alright. Let’s get started. This meeting was called because we need to talk about where we want to go on vacation next. Everyone will have exactly five minutes to pitch one idea. Toki you’re first." Nathan walked around the table and took a seat next to Pickles.

Charles paid very little attention to the guitarist’s speech. He was tense, waiting for the grand finale of the prank war. A trip of some sort may not be a bad idea, it would distract the younger guitarist from any thoughts of revenge. Toki spoke for a few minutes, expressing his opinion that they should go on another Disney vacation because the last one had been the best vacation ever. The manager didn’t realize it wasn’t going to happen until he had finished speaking and returned to his seat.

Murderface was next. He took his turn standing at the head of the table pitching his idea, a tour of civil war battle fields. Charles caught the singer’s eye and shot him a questioning glance. Nathan just shrugged in response and looked away.

Nathan went up next, he had been doing something under the table the entire time Toki had been speaking, and his expression could only be described as irritated confusion.

As Nathan opened his mouth to speak several things happened at once.

Pickles asked, "Whet’s this bahtton under tha table?"

A horrified expression appeared on the singer’s face at the drummer’s question.

There was a quiet sort of mechanical clicking from overhead.

Without thinking, Charles bolted from his seat and shoved Nathan as hard to the side as he could. A split second later he was drenched in a sticky, foul smelling mess. His eyes felt as if they were glued closed, and all sound was muffled by the heavy layer of whatever viscous liquid it was that now covered him.

 

The room had erupted in noise as the band commented on what had just happened. Nathan growled at them to shut up and it was silent instantly.

Standing still for a moment, he wondered exactly how he was going to get himself cleaned up when he couldn’t see. It seemed like his entire suit was soaked, his hands were dripping, and he could feel the syrupy goo running down his fingers to drip onto the floor. It was also running down the back of his neck. Disgusting.

After a few moments someone removed the soiled glasses from his face and put a towel in his grasp.

"Use that one on your hands. I’ll get your face." The singer said as he lightly gripped his manager’s jaw and began to carefully try to wipe the offending substance from his face.

After several minutes it became apparent that a dry towel wasn’t going to do the trick.

 

 

 

　

　

 

  



End file.
